The Third-Class Genie (13 page)

“Yes, poor little Ginger,” called Mrs Wallace.

The other woman nodded.

“Poor Ginger.”

“Yes, he had to be taken today. We couldn’t do anything for him.”

Alec tiptoed past the Wallaces’ steps in a state of shock. Poor Ginger… had to be taken… couldn’t do anything. Oh no! What had happened?

Abu had promised him that Ginger wouldn’t come to any harm. But if he had, Abu wouldn’t be able to put matters right. If anything serious had happened to Ginger, thought Alec, it’s all my fault.

“Right, Bowden. Say your prayers.”

Alec nearly jumped out of his jeans. Coming out of the passage at the side of Number 85 was Ginger Wallace, large as life, or being Ginger, rather larger.

Alec thought of running. He had ten yards’ start, but Ginger was an athlete. Anyway, he’d come to see Ginger and that’s what he’d do. He turned to face his enemy who ploughed on at him like a tank.

“Look, Ginger…”

But Ginger swung, a long right, just like Mohammad AH. Luckily for Alec, the aim wasn’t world championship class. Ginger’s fist struck him square on the pocket which held the trusty can. Alec doubled up, winded. But Ginger whistled with pain and brought his injured fist up to his mouth.

“Serve you right, Byron Wallace,” said a laughing voice behind them.

Coming across the road was Eulalia. Alec was always glad to see her, but never more than now.

“Byron?”

“Oh, yes,” said Eulalia. “He’s baptized Byron Churchill Wallace. And,” she spoke more quietly, “don’t let our mother hear you call him Ginger, or she’ll skin you! I mean it.”

Alec looked nervously round. But Mrs Wallace was placidly rocking one of the litde girls on her lap and did not seem to have heard. The neighbours had gone indoors.

“But what was your mum saying, as I was coming up the road, about poor old Ginger?”

Eulalia’s laugh echoed down the road.

“We have a ginger cat. At least we did have till today. Our Byron stayed off school today to take it to the vet, poor little thing.”

Alec looked at Ginger who was standing neutrally by.

“But I thought you had been ill.”

Ginger shrugged. “I was sick the whole week. The doctor said it was some sort of flu, nothing to it really. Why are you so interested in my health, Skinny?”

“Because it said in the papers there was a mysterious illness in Boner’s Street.”

Ginger looked contemptuous. “I think that old girl downstairs has been talking too much. She doesn’t like us.”

Alec nodded.

“Anyway,” Ginger became aggressive again, “what are you doing down Boner’s Street?”

“I came to see you and Eulalia,” said Alec, his nervousness returning.

“Oh, now isn’t that flattering,” said Eulalia. Then she chuckled, “But be careful. He doesn’t like just anyone talking to his sister.”

“Belt up,” said Ginger. Eulalia looked her brother squarely in the eye.

“You might scare Skinny, but you don’t scare me.”

“Huh,” replied Ginger, but left it at that. He turned to Alec.

“Anyway, what do you want us for?”

“I want your help.” Ginger’s eyebrows rose. “I mean, I need your help, badly. It’s for a friend – a – er, black friend.”

“Black friend?” Ginger was immediately suspicious.

“Look,” said Alec. “Can you keep a secret?”

“That depends.”

“Listen. Remember that day you chased me by the railway arches and couldn’t catch me?”

Ginger nodded.

“There’s a way through. It leads to an old works called the Tank, where I have my secret place.”

Ginger began to look interested. Eulalia listened quietly

“The point is, my friend – he’s called Abu Salem – is there. He shouldn’t really be here in Bugletown at all.”

“Where’s he from?” Ginger was still suspicious, but interested.

“I can’t really say.” He couldn’t say out of a beer can from tenth-century Baghdad. “But will you come?”

“How do we know you haven’t a mob up there waiting for us?”

Alec appealed to Eulalia. “Honest. There’s no trick. I didn’t start that trouble at school. That was Spotty Sam and he’s not even a friend of mine. I’ve never told anyone else about this secret place except my friend and he’s living away at Moorside now.”

Eulalia nodded. “That’s where the council wants to send us all now.”

Ginger shrugged. “OK, but we’ll be using that Tank place from now on.”

Alec felt a pang inside. Still it couldn’t be helped. He had to do this, for Abu’s sake.

“Come on then.”

“Where are you two going?” Mrs Wallace called.

“Just down the road to look at a place, Ma,” replied Eulalia.

“Don’t be long.”

“Ten minutes.”

The three of them walked silently down the road to the railway arches. Alec stopped by the old Bugletown Ordnance notice and looked round.

“Must keep a look out for Miss Morris. She saw Abu and me go in here this afternoon. She thinks we’re up to something.”

He pushed back the two planks. Ginger squatted down and looked through the gap. He whistled.

“Some secret you got here, Skinny.” Ginger pushed his way through, Eulalia followed and Alec came last. As they picked their way through the tangle of woods and old junk, Alec explained that the Tank had been a factory which had been closed down. Now he’d heard they planned to turn it into a car park.

“That’ll be a lot of use, up in Moorside,” said Eulalia.

When they came to the main building, Ginger stopped.

“Now, before we go in there, I reckon you’d better tell us the whole story about this friend of yours.”

Alec nodded.

“OK, I’ll do that. You won’t believe it, but I’ll tell you.

He told them the story as briefly as he could. He could see they thought he was kidding, but they listened anyway. Why not? It was worth hearing, even if it was impossible.

But Ginger wasn’t impressed.

“You reckon this genie-man’s upstairs in the old crane room? They have better stories on the telly.”

Alec suddenly became angry.

“Please yourself. Are you coming up to see, or are you scared?”

Ginger frowned, but Eulalia smiled.

“Skinny s got you there, Byron. Touched you on your tenderest spot.”

“OK,” said Ginger, “lead the way.”

As they came through the crane room door, Abu was curled up as usual, snoring away. At the sight of his red and white robes, Ginger burst into delighted laughter.

“Hey, what’s this dude doing in fancy dress?”

Abu uncurled, shot upright and reaching out a huge fist, grabbed Ginger by his shirt.

“By the Beard of the Prophet!” he swore.

Ginger grinned.

“Man, a Black Muslim.”

A
BU GENTLY RELEASED
Ginger and smiled.

“Aha, Alec, you have other slaves, then?”

“Cool it,” said Ginger, the smile going from his face.

“No, no, Abu. They’re friends, like me.”

“He means we’re British, even if we are black,” said Eulalia. She smiled as if it were a joke, but Alec could see she didn’t think it was funny. Abu turned to Alec again.

“So there are black British and white British? Then why must Abu Salem hide away?”

Alec groaned. How could he explain? But Ginger cut in.

“Our people come here from Jamaica, in the Caribbean. When this country owned the lot out there, and our people stayed at home, they didn’t mind us being British. But when our people started coming over here, they changed their tune.”

“It’s not as simple as that, Ginger,” said Alec. Ginger turned on him.

“Maybe not to you, but it is to me.”

Eulalia flapped her hands.

“You don’t help old Abu at all by rowing. The thing is, Abu, you don’t have a passport, documents, nothing. And without permit papers, you’re not allowed in the country, even if you think you should be. You’re just plain and simple illegal.”

Abu nodded. That he understood.

Ginger slowly simmered down and became coolly practical. “We could smuggle him into Boner’s Street and say he’s a cousin over on a visit. Round here, people can’t tell the difference,” he added, shooting a glance at Alec.

Eulalia shook her head. “It sounds simple, but just now we’ve got the council man nosing around. No, we’ve got to ask someone.”

Ginger looked worried. “Like Pa, you mean. He’s not going to like that, not at all.”

“Maybe I can have a word with Ma,” said Eulalia, thoughtfully. “See, Abu, if you can bear sleeping in this dump tonight, we’ll sneak up here tomorrow morning with more food. And then, tomorrow night, we’ll see if we can find somewhere else decent for you. OK?”

Abu bowed his thanks.

“Look, Skinny,” Eulalia went on, “is there another way out of this place?”

Alec nodded. “There’s a gap in the fence over the canal.”

“Right. Well, you go one way and Byron and I’ll go the other. If people see you with us in Boner’s Street, someone’s going to get suspicious. We’ll let you know in school tomorrow what we can do. Right?”

“Yes,” said Alec. “You going first?”

Eulalia smiled as she and Ginger moved towards the door.

“Don’t worry, Skinny. We won’t tell anyone else about your place, will we?” She nudged her brother, who winked at Alec. Then they were off down the stairs, leaving Alec with Abu.

“Truly, this is a strange land, O Alec.”

“You can say that again, O Abu.”

“Truly, this is a…”

“Oh, never mind, Abu. Will you be warm enough with that one blanket? With luck it’ll only be for tonight.”

“I shall sleep as a babe.” And Abu hoisted himself on to the table again, and prepared to curl up, almost as though he were inside the beer can.

Alec felt the can in his pocket as he said good night and went off down the stairs. It wasn’t much use now, but he was going to hang on to it for sentimental reasons.

As soon as he woke up the next day, Alec had his familiar feeling of disaster. This was not just because last night Mum had caught him sneaking in and had stopped this week’s pocket money, but his early warning system told him that bigger disasters were on the way, bigger than any he had known. Catastrophe was just round the corner. He’d lost the paddle and he was drifting towards Niagara Falls.

Still, he had to go through with it. At least he’d spent last night in his warm bed, not curled up on the crane room table. What a come-down for a genie!

He arrived at school just in time to catch the line-up.

Eulalia passed him a note in the corridor.

“Aha,” said Ronnie Carter, “the Casanova of 9F strikes again.”

“Drop dead,” said Alec savagely.

“Pardon me for breathing,” came the reply. Alec ignored Ronnie and hurried away.

In Assembly Mr Foster was reading the lesson. With his head in the clouds as usual, Mr Foster had chosen some passage from the Book of Kings, which might have been a rave 5,000 years ago, but was not keyed into the twentieth century. Boredom set in. Alec fiddled Eulalia’s note out of his pocket and read it.

“We move Abu this evening. Meet us after school by the station.”

He slid the note back into his pocket just as Mr Cartwright made a reconnaissance run down the ranks. Mr Foster rambled his way through the rest of the Old Testament and they were dismissed. The day began to grind on.

Grind on was the word: maths – double science – English. Alec tried to keep his mind on his work and stay out of trouble. He must avoid being kept in. Someone leant over his desk.

“What’s on your mind, Alec?” Miss Welch asked.

“Er, nothing, Miss,” said Alec.

“Then why have you written the last sentence three times?”